Like Glass
by Valerie Phoenixfire
Summary: Thoughts during a dinner with the Buckets. Reuploaded after many months of contemplation.


Like Glass

Just like a natural sunset, the lighting in the Chocolate Room slowly and seamlessly shifted from a very sunny daytime hue into an orange shade that just might remind one of an orange-flavored peppermint, or perhaps a caramelized toffee of some sort if it were left out in the sun for a while. The taller candy trees, striped and spotted in all sorts of odd ways, were the first to catch the glimpse of the artificial light as it made its way all across their barks and seeped into the very tips of the multitude of twirly branches. One by one, the delicious and unusual objects in the room lost some of their brightly-saturated loveliness as the signal of evening crept across the entire area, including the river, which soon sparkled with a sort of diffused reflection that imitated a real sunset over an ocean. The house that stood on a small grassy hill, though still rather shabby in appearance, attained a sort of cozy, gentle charm when touched by the amazing factory's own evening-style light source.

The "sunset" was a welcome sight to the members of the household, for it meant two things: basking in its warm glow (the factory was always warm, of course, but this was such a wonderful imitation of the real thing that those who lived in the house felt an even greater sense of coziness and ease)and the end of dinner. The latter was a testament to the Buckets' adherance to tradition, for dinner was always over just before sunset, and when dinner was over, the day was basically over. All the work was done for the family.

For the family. But not for--

"Willy? Sure you won't join us for dessert? It's _always_ your favorite part, whenever we have it..."

Mrs. Bucket's voice fell on half-deaf ears as the chocolatier bearing the name shuffled over to the crooked door of the house. The man snatched his top hat and cane hurriedly and almost tripped as he rather harshly pulled the door open. Stopping for a moment to glance back at the woman who called to him, he half-smiled, mouth twitching slightly. He was, indeed, very jittery tonight.

"Er, no, but-but _thank_ you, Mrs. B! The dinner was great, as always. I just...gotta run! I'll see you all later, heh!"

His eyes darted to each and every one of the seven people staring at him.

"...bye!"

The word was half-shuddered out as he whirled around, almost catching his coat on a stray nail in the doorframe, and bolted out, not quite realizing that he left the door to slam shut on its own (something the grandparents certainly did not normally enjoy, and Grandpa George's scowl was a sure sign of that this time). The sudden, awkward silence that was left felt rather uncomfortable, and perhaps that was not so unusual, because the situation was actually unusual, particularly for Charlie Bucket. The boy looked down for a moment, disappointment printing itself on his face, and then looked up at his mother, who was clearing the table. She seemed to act as if nothing had happened and had gotten over Willy's sudden departure, but Charlie could not be sure. He didn't want to assume what others felt.

"Mum, Mr. Wonka always joins us for dessert. I wonder what happened?"

The boy forced any sort of true disappointment out of him, because he knew that maybe Willy had to go tend to some kind of factory issue. The place was so gigantic that literally anything could go wrong. Why, anything could go right, as well. Maybe, Charlie thought, smiling a little, Mr. Wonka came up with some kind of amazing idea and didn't want to forget it. Charlie had to agree that spur-of-the-moment ideas were often the best, so maybe this was for the better, if that's what it was.

"Oh, you know how he is, dear," his mother said as she finished placing all of the dishes in the sink. "He probably had to go do some work or...finish something or come up with something or whatever else he needs to do in this huge place."

Charlie nodded. His mother was right. Sure, whenever they had dessert, it was always fun because it would always be one of Willy Wonka's and Charlie's newest inventions that the whole family could try, and they were always a huge hit. Willy particularly had a fantastic time, always grinning ear-to-ear, eyes wider than the biggest saucers as he eagerly awaited everyone's reactions to his (and Charlie's, of course) creations. Pretty much all the time, everyone loved them. And pretty much all the time, Willy was practically bleeding pride, giggling with glee and clapping his hands and sputtering "I TOLD ya it'd be good!" Charlie always just smiled and sat still, despite Willy's suggestions about "feeling happy inside AND outside!"

Charlie smiled warmly at the thought. He really did love dessert, for he loved watching his family try what he had come up with in his very imaginative head. He also admired his mentor's excitement, even if he sometimes feared him exploding from giddiness. But, as Charlie noted yet again while wandering over to a window that was lit aglow by "sunlight," his mother was right. Willy probably had to work very urgently. Letting out a somewhat wavering, yet at the same time oddly relaxed sigh, Charlie sat and leaned against the window slightly, gazing at the incredible orange-glazed view outside. The color of the world outside, along with the heat it brought, gave a sense of euphoria and had an almost sleep-inducing effect, and Charlie yawned, his eyes scanning the curves of the candy hills and trees.

Then, something caught his eye.

It was moving. At first, he thought it was an Oompa Loompa, but it was too tall. His eyes widened and he pressed his face against the dusty glass to try to see it better. No, it was not an Oompa Loompa, or a shadow, or anything else...anything else, other than--

"Hey, Mum! It's Mr. Wonka! He's walking around the Chocolate Room, by the riverbed! He's still here..."

Charlie's mother turned to her son, shrugging.

"Probably just examining the premises, that's all. Don't fret about it, darling."

Charlie turned back to the window. Sure enough, there was Willy Wonka, pacing slowly along the riverbed, almost appearing as a silhouette in the orange light, but not quite. Yet, from the looks of him, he didn't seem to be looking around or surveying anything like he normally would. He did not have the usual skip in his step, and he wasn't even smiling. Not even half-smiling. Eventually, he stopped at the edge of the riverbank and sat down, immobile from then on. Charlie could see that he was gazing into the river. Once again, he turned to face his mother.

"Now he's just sitting there..."

Mrs. Bucket sighed, scrunching up a towel in her hands. Now, even she realized that this was rather abnormal. Willy never just...sat around. Especially when it was normally dessert time. Her eyes met Charlie's, and then the boy knew that she was on the same wavelength as him.

"All right, I'll go talk to him," she said, putting the towel in the sink.

This alerted the half-asleep grandparents, as well as Mr. Bucket, who was reading a newspaper at the table and suddenly put it down. Charlie eyed the others' reactions and rather wondered what they could be so startled by. His mother _was_ a caring person...and yet, deep inside, he wanted to talk to Willy himself, for they often talked about each other's issues, whatever they might be. He decided, however, that these inner conflicts would do him no good now or in the future, so he simply gave his mother a nod, knowing that she could probably handle the situation (whatever it was) just as well as he could. Mr. Bucket obviously wasn't so sure, though.

"Uh...you don't think that Charlie should...talk to him, darling? I mean, they know each other rather well, and maybe it would be better, since they always talk about things--"

"No, dear. Not right now. Charlie has..."

She turned to the boy, smiling just a little.

"...homework to do."

Charlie returned the smile, understanding, and made his way upstairs to his room in the rafters. He really did have homework, but not _that _much. A thought crept into his mind. Perhaps his mother somehow knew what was wrong? She was, after all, a rather intuitive person. He wondered if that's why she was so intent on confronting Willy herself. Sighing, he lied on his bed and just wondered...

Mr. Bucket returned to his paper, thinking that his wife just did what she had to do. She _was_ often right, he realized. The grandparents were silently drifting back to their half-asleep states, except for Grandpa George, who muttered something about "that perpetually strange Wonka, always changing from one day to the next," and for Grandpa Joe, who, smiling, watched Mrs. Bucket as she exited the house. _Such a good, caring person, really, _he thought, the aura of the evening taking over his senses and, like the others around him, lulling him into sleep.

Willy didn't even notice that someone was standing right next to where he was sitting. He was in one of his dazes, magnified many times by the evening light, giving him an even deeper sleep-like state. Eyes were fixated upon the glittering chocolate river, unblinking, his field of vision very hazy and nothing in focus. Not that he really preferred it any other way. It was only in instances like this that he could truly think...or truly remember...?

Remember? He didn't want to remember this, not right--

"Willy?"

"HUH!?"

Popping out of his trance, the chocolatier practically jumped, having to grip his top hat quickly to prevent it from falling off of his head and into the river. His head darted upwards, and immediately, he scrambled away as if by instinct, gloved hands gripping the mint grass tightly. He gulped, feeling very slightly embarassed. Well, he never _did_ like it when people towered over him. It made him uncomfortable, as so many other things did. Clearing his throat, he pulled his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and placing his chin on his knees. Wary eyes nestled under nervous, tightened eyebrows were fixated upon Mrs. Bucket, who sat down next to him. The way he was looking at her made it seem as if he were frozen in a perpetual flinch.

"Erm...hi, Mrs. B."

"Hello, Willy," replied Mrs. Bucket, turning away from him as if to ease his discomfort and focusing her gaze upon the impressive view in front of them.

"Nice evening, huh? The river's looking _really_ delicious today, heh..."

Willy was never very good at normal conversation (that is, anything outside candy, candy, and candy), but the nervous tint in his voice confirmed Mrs. Bucket's suspicions that something was amiss. This wasn't the normal giggly nervousness that he was so well-known for in the family, either. Mrs. Bucket _had _caught the slight giggle he tried to throw in there, but saw beyond that. She saw far beyond that. Folding her hands while contemplating what to say, she decided to get right to the point.

"Listen, Willy. You're not yourself tonight. We all saw that. Charlie saw it, as did I and everyone else. Would you please tell me what's wrong?"

The chocolatier's gaze had, for the last few moments, been affixed to the river, but very slowly did his head turn to face her. Seconds of silence passed between them. Mrs. Bucket waited patiently, believing that Willy was just thinking of the best way to tell her. Or perhaps he was thinking of just WHAT to tell her. Or maybe, he himself wasn't too sure what was quite wrong. So she waited, ever the patient woman. And waited. Then, Willy opened his mouth just a little, immediately closing it. His eyes darted from side to side, then back to her.

"...no."

Mrs. Bucket let out a soft chuckle.

"Why not, Willy? I'm sure it's something we can strai--"

"I dun wanna."

Mrs. Bucket's voice trailed off as she was interrupted. Blinking several times, she stared into Willy's eyes. The man was still sitting there scrunched up like a paper ball, a look on his face similar to that of a child who wants something but has to wait ten seconds to get it.

"Well...is it anything I can help with, or maybe someone else here?"

At that moment, Willy blinked and immediately turned away from her. He sighed, thoughts momentarily breaking as his glance panned to the waterfall in the distance. _That waterfall was always rather loud...maybe I should make it--_

"Willy?"

"Huh? Oh..."

The man felt trapped. Physically and mentally, he felt trapped. He didn't want to talk to her or anyone about this at all, no, not at all. And yet, she was so kind, so gentle with him. Like she really wanted to help him. So maybe--

"Youcanhelp."

"Pardon?"

Willy sighed, wary eyes once again aimed at her.

"You can help...I guess..."

Mrs. Bucket smiled. She was getting somewhere.

"Wonderful, Willy! Now, what is this...dilemma...that I can help with?"

Willy gulped. A thousand thoughts per second crossed his mind, questions making up most of them. Did he really want to tell her? Would she really, truly understand? Of course she would, she's Mrs. Bucket. She knows what she's talking about. An odd, ill feeling filled him. The two of them HAD talked about this topic before, but not quite like the way he had in mind right now. No, this was very different, indeed. Very different.

Then, he realized she was still waiting for him to answer. He knew she was kind and generous in her patience, but deep inside, he really, _really_ wanted to get this over with.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. The words to say were hard to form, suddenly.

"Well...you know how I visited my dad...?"

"Yes...?"

"Well...well..."

"Go on, Willy."

"I kinda...I..."

The rather severe shakiness in his voice worried Mrs. Bucket just a bit. She wondered if maybe the poor man would bolt any second, but trusted that he would continue however he could with his speech. She almost contemplated putting a hand on his shoulder, but realized that it would probably worsen the situation.

"I...well...I wanna visit my mom now...is that...weird?"

Mrs. Bucket gasped, touching her chin with a hand. Somehow, deep inside, she was almost expecting this. Not consciously, but from the very first day that Willy mentioned his mother to her, she knew that the longing tone in his voice meant something. She always understood that the nervousness that stuck to the room whenever they talked about his mother came from Willy's rather obvious urge to set things right with her, so to speak. And now, she couldn't help but feel a sudden urge to cry for this man.

He didn't even say that he wanted to visit his mom's grave. He just said his mom.

She noticed the way his gloves crunched violently against each other as he folded his hands. She noticed that his breath was very shaky and that he was tense, as if ready to run. Yet, she understood.

"W-what am I thinking, of course it's weird! I mean...I-I mean, she's not even...alive, heh..."

He was visibly shaking now.

"Willy, it's--"

"No, Mrs. B, it's weird, huh? At least with my dad...well, we got to talk and stuff and hug and stuff. But my mom...she's not even around anymore, ya know? And...it's been so long...it's not like it'll matter...not like we'll talk...she won't listen...ya know?"

The giggle at the end of that was the most forced one Willy had ever made before, probably.

Mrs. Bucket finally placed a hand on his, rubbing it. Amazingly enough, he didn't flinch too badly or pull away. Perhaps his current state of panicked confusion and slight shame in his words prevented that. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mrs. Bucket finally took her chance.

"It's _not_...weird, Willy. Not at all. Now you listen to me, dear. You go to her, all right? You go visit her. Trust me, Willy, you will feel so much better when you do. Why, a burden will lift off your shoulders right there and then."

Willy quieted down, rubbing his gloves together before meeting eyes with her again. A twinge of disbelief dawned upon him.

"And you tell your mother whatever it is you've always wanted to tell her."

More disbelief dawned upon the chocolatier at that moment.

"But Mrs. B...I'll just be talking to myself. I do that a lot, you know...heh...but I'll feel so silly this time. 'Cuz it's like...I usually talk to myself, but I _know_ I'm talking to myself..."

He trembled as he weakly waved his other hand while talking to try to accentuate his explanations.

"B-but this time, it's like...I'm talking to someone and they can't listen. Not 'cuz they just don't...'cuz they can't..."

Mrs. Bucket's heart felt as if a hammer shattered it into a million pieces. And it was at this moment that she felt as if she could stare directly into Willy's heart and see the obvious hole that was there. She gripped his hand tighter, pulling it to her and folding her other one around it. She was smiling, now. So heartbroken and yet...happy for this deeply tortured man.

"Oh, Willy, of COURSE she'll listen. She will definitely...listen. To every word. She still loves you, you know. I'm sure of that. She will listen to you just like I'm listening to you right now. I promise you, Willy."

She pulled him closer by the hand, locking eyes with him to imprint into his mind the seriousness of her words.

"I _promise _you that it will be worth your while. Go to her whenever you feel is right."

Mrs. Bucket noticed just how gorgeously Willy's bright lilac eyes reflected her face. His eyes were youthful, beautiful, and so lively that seeing him in this kind of situation seemed to ruin their purpose, which was to expose the true nature of this amazing, wonderful person. For a moment, he looked confused, those eyes blinking just once. Then, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile, and Mrs. Bucket was quite relieved. This was a good sign, indeed.

"Hey...ya know, Mrs. B, you're totally right! Oh, you're always right. Of COURSE she'll listen. Mom's always had weird solutions for things, I guess. Er, but anyway, you know, the glass elevator has something crazy going on with one of its rocket thingies, but I'll make it sure it gets fixed tomorrow! Yeah, and then I'll like, visit her really soon!"

As if some unknown force acted upon him, he jumped up with her in tow. The woman almost fell over from the force of his hand pulling on both of hers, but didn't think anything of it. She was very relieved, indeed, and could also tell that Willy was already feeling better. He almost seemed to be back to normal. His bizarre state of normal, that is.

"I MUST thank you for knocking sense into my head, Mrs. B. You're...really great! Well, I'm not gonna waste any more of your time, so I'd better be off..."

And he grabbed his cane, adjusted his top hat, and was just about to head on his merry way, when Mrs. Bucket stopped him.

"Wait, Willy."

"Huh?"

Before he could even say or do anything else, Mrs. Bucket leaned forwards and kissed his cheek lightly. The chocolatier's eyes widened and he turned red as a cherry, standing there, confused. Frozen might be a good way to describe his current position, his arms rigidly at his sides, shocked, but not quite horrified eyes fixated upon her. Mrs. Bucket smiled, stepping back away from him.

"Let's just say that's from your mother to you, dear. It's been a while, you know."

Willy nodded furiously, still rather red.

"Heheh, well, thanks! Uh, I...gotta go now, really, so, bye! Tons of things to do, things to do! I still have some licorice-flavored face cream to test, and chocolate-coated..."

His voice trailed off into a cavernous echo as he zoomed through the Chocolate Room, exiting out of one of the tunnel-like passageways that led out of the place. And then, it seemed as if all tension had left the glowing room completely.

As she walked back to the house, Mrs. Bucket was proud of herself. She not only helped Willy out, but understood him a whole lot better now.

Inside, the four grandparents and Mr. Bucket were all asleep in their respective sleeping areas. Charlie leaned over the edge of the rafters and quietly addressed his mother.

"Hey, Mum...is Mr. Wonka okay? What was wrong?"

"He's fine, dear. Just fine."

"But what was wrong?"

Mrs. Bucket carefully climbed up the ladder to Charlie's "room" and sat next to him.

"He just had a decision he had to make. I helped him with it."

"Did you have any idea what was wrong before you asked him?"

"Well, I knew he had...certain dilemmas he had to face, and this just happened to be one of them. I knew what to say, though. I knew what he in particular had to hear."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're good at this kind of thing, Mum?"

Mrs. Bucket smiled at her son, putting an arm around him.

"Charlie, some people are like glass in front of storm clouds. They're clear, pure, and beautiful, really, but one look at them and you can see right through. You can see their storms, their obstacles...their problems so easily that it does not matter that they try to hide it behind their own physical forms. Sometimes..."

Now, Charlie smiled, and Mrs. Bucket truly felt better.

"...you just have to try really hard to make the sun shine again. And sometimes...you don't."


End file.
